Dead Again Page #3

Yes, I was. She's dead now.

How did she die?

To escape Germany,|we had to go through the mountains.

It was a very difficult trip,|and she had a weak heart.

Roman lived in this enormous house.

Just him, his housekeeper|and her son.

And Roman's music.

It's for an opera I'm working on.

You're writing an opera|about a monster?

- Is this from your opera?|- Yes.

The opera was almost|all Roman cared about,

until he met Margaret and literally|swept her off her feet.

I'm drenched. We'll ruin this couch.

I'll get another one.

The day of the wedding was so happy.

It seemed like nothing and nobody|could ever come between them.

Daytime.

First step's always the toughest.|Sweetheart, thank you.

Help. Where are we?

Don't ask. Just try to be polite.

Easy, boys, the war is over.

- Lydia.|- Otto!

- So nice to see you.|- So nice to see you.

May I present Gray Baker?

- I'm yawning already.|- We'll stay five minutes.

- Nice to see you.|- Gray Baker. Congratulations.

Inga, I was just upstairs.

- Yes?|- It's just that I thought...

We had talked about you and Frankie|moving downstairs.

Roman never said anything to me.

What Mr Strauss said or didn't say|is irrelevant.

We've already discussed this.|Tonight, of all nights,

I'd appreciate it if you weren't|sleeping in the next room.

- Yes, Mrs Strauss.|- Thank you.

Mrs Strauss?

- Congratulations.|- Thank you, Frankie.

- Lydia.|- Mrs Strauss.

May I present Gray Baker?

- How do you do?|- How do you do?

Mr Baker just made the list|for the Pulitzer Prize.

Really?

- Yes, really.|- Well, congratulations.

- Congratulations yourself.|- Thank you.

So, any new tidbits from the press?

Zero. To tell you the truth,|I miss the war.

What an odd thing to say.

Doesn't seem to be much news any|more, all this back-to-normal stuff.

The world's getting boring again.

I'll tell you what,|the only thing I do regret

is by being away so long|I haven't had my chance...

to hear you play, Mrs Strauss.|To hear you play.

I'm not going into hiding, Mr Baker.|I'm just getting married.

- It's a pleasure to meet you.|- The pleasure's mine.

See you later. Bye.

Roman had given Margaret|the wedding day of her dreams,

full of new people|and wonderful surprises.

But there was|another surprise to come.

Roman.

I've never seen anything like this.

It's beautiful.|I don't know what to say.

- "Thank you" is always good.|- Thank you.

No, it's not a bracelet, darling.

It's an anklet,|a very special anklet.

Let's have your leg.

It's very old. The man|I bought it from explained to me

that when a husband gives this|to his wife,

they become...

two halves of the same person.

Nothing can separate them.

Not even death.

So we're stuck with each other.

Either that, or I've|overpaid terribly for the thing.

Three, two, one.

A little hot in here.

Mother, could you open|a window for us, please?

This isn't as uncommon|as you might think.

A colleague in San Francisco...

May I have a glass of water?

You really have found your tongue.|Wonderful.

- Do you know your name?|- Give her time.

Do you remember anything|about the people you talked about?

- Are they still alive?|- I'd like to show you something.

June 1949.

That was Roman Strauss,|that was his wife Margaret,

and that was their home.

Handsome man, wasn't he? Not at all|the sort who'd murder his wife.

Yes. He stabbed her in the throat

with a lovely pair of antique|Die Schere barber scissors.

Die Schere... Disher.

They were auctioned at Christie's|last year for 20,000

by a Japanese gentleman,|if memory serves.

They seemed so in love.

They're usually the people|that kill each other.

Could she have dreamed this|or read about them?

No. I got clarity far beyond what one|would pick up from reading.

- They look alike. It means nothing.|- Mr Church.

- I don't believe she was there.|- It doesn't matter.

For whatever reason,|these events are consuming her.

The sooner we work through them, the|sooner she'll get her memory back.

Tomorrow I have a Friar's luncheon|at twelve.

- How's 4:
00 tomorrow sound?|- Yes. Thank you very much.

My pleasure.

- Mr Church.|- Yeah?

The magazine. It's $1 7.95.

You OK? Is there anything|you need right now?

You mean besides my memory?

OK. I can't get used|to the sound of your voice.

It's like one day you wake up|and your cat talks to you.

It's just you've been so quiet|the last couple of days and...

Never mind.|I didn't speak. Forget it.

Mr Church.

- Mike.|- Why are you helping me?

I don't know. You smell good.

Maybe I feel sorry for you.|Maybe I like you.

Maybe I just want to hear|how that story you told ends.

But you don't believe any of that.

I believe you experienced|something weird.

I'm not convinced it means|what he says.

- You think I'm crazy?|- I think we need a second opinion.

- What do you think happened?|- Sounds like a past-life experience.

You said you were good.

I used to think it was bullshit,|but it happens.

I had this one crazy old lady.|Really batshit.

She was so claustrophobic|she'd choke in Yankee Stadium.

I thought, you know|what I'm dealing with here?

Maybe some childhood trauma.|I'll use hypnotherapy.

I'll find some memory.|I'll regress her.

Sure enough. Bingo!

There it was.|She was five years old.

She had this uncle who'd molest her|in the closet.

Really sick sh*t.|I thought, "I got it! " No.

A couple more months,|she's still claustrophobic.

I said, what the f***!|I'll regress her back even further.

This time when I ask her the year,

- She says 1832.|- 1832?

When I hear that,|I say, "Right, lady. Blow me."

But she keeps going. She says there's|this father who's an undertaker.

She has a brother|who liked to lock her in coffins.

I don't know if it was bullshit|or if it wasn't.

All I know is after that session,|she wasn't claustrophobic any more.

A lot more people believe in|past lives than don't.

I'm sure that makes her|feel a lot better.

This lady screams in her sleep today,|right now. I don't care who she was.

I want to know who she is.

Do you believe what you saw was real?

It seemed real. Yeah.

Stick with the junk man.|He's on the right track.

- I'll tell you why.|- Look...

Sometimes a trauma in a present life

can lead you back|to a trauma in a past life.

If you resolve that past-life trauma,

you got a good chance|of finding out who you are.

You take knowledge from this life,|use it in the next. That's karma.

Isn't it I do something bad now,|I'm a termite next time?

You ask me, you're already a termite|in this life in a shitty suit, OK?

What good is learning if you'll be|with different people each time?

You won't be with different people.

Thanks to fate, the cosmic force|with a tragic sense of humour,

you burn somebody in one life,|they get to burn you in this one.

It's the karma credit plan.|Buy now, pay forever.

Excuse me. It's my karmic burden|to load some cat food.

Come on.

Tell me something, Mike.

Why is it that I can recognise|certain smells,

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